Yo Ho Ho
by msgenevieve447
Summary: "Why the bloody hell would someone name a bottle of rum in honour of that useless wanker?" A birthday ficlet for Carmibelievesinlove on tumblr, aka Killian discovers a bottle of "Blackbeard's Spiced Rum". Now with Part Two, aka Emma finds a much more suitable bottle of rum for her pirate to enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

She finds him loitering in the last aisle, a bottle of _something_ clutched in his hand. His dark eyebrows tug together in a frown, a tiny muscle flickering in his cheek as he glares at the label on the bottle. His mouth turns down at the corners, followed by a roll of his eyes, and she grins.

He's _sulking._

"You okay?"

He waves the bottle at her, his expression as stormy as the proverbial seas. "Why the bloody hell would someone name a bottle of rum in honour of _that_ useless wanker?"

She bites the inside of her cheek a little harder as she catches sight of the label, determined not to laugh (she does love it when he's ridiculously indignant) because this is clearly a Very Serious Question as far as he's concerned. "Well, you should know by now that legendary stories aren't always based in reality."

He huffs loudly as he replaces the bottle on the shelf, but she sees the tilt of his lips, and knows her answer has met with his approval. "Tastes like barnacle's arse, I'm sure."

Emma feels her eyes widen. "Barnacles have asses?"

He grins, slipping his arm around her and steering her towards the shelves of tequila, a drink to which she'd recklessly introduced him a few months ago. "Technically, their excretory organs are glands, but they still-"

"Ugh." She claps a teasing hand over his mouth,deciding that she really needs to stop him from watching so much Discovery Channel. "That's _way_ too much information."

She hears his muffled chuckle, then she's inhaling sharply as she feels the warm, deliberate brush of his tongue against her palm. She snatches her hand away (they're in the middle of a store, for God's sake) but not before tiny pinpricks of heat are dancing across her skin _everywhere_ and he's looking at her as though he's pondering which part of her he's going to anoint with salt first.

"Just pick something so we can go home," she instructs hurriedly, trying and failing not to think of what had happened the last time they'd shared a bottle of tequila. "It's been a long day."

The tip of his tongue makes a fleeting appearance at the corner of his mouth, her vague plans for an early night melting away at the heat in his eyes, then he ducks his head in a mocking bow. "Aye aye, Captain."


	2. Chapter 2

Hook's Black Rum

He senses it as soon as he walks through the door just after eight o'clock, an echo of whispered anticipation shimmering in the air like a living, breathing thing.

It's a talent that's kept him alive for many a century.

It's also a talent that infuriates his lovely Swan to an amusing degree.

 _Would it kill you to look surprised every now and then?_

Grinning, he closes the door behind him (their door, the door to _their_ home, a fact which never ceases to astound him) and shrugs out of his jacket, turning instinctively towards the sound of Emma's voice drifting from their living area. "I'm in here."

The flickering candlelight is the first sign that he was correct in his conjecture that she is indeed up to something.

The second sign is the dark bottle of grog sitting on the coffee table, accompanied by two square cut glasses.

"This is quite the welcome, Swan," he remarks approvingly, and she smiles up at him.

"It's about time you got home." She's stretched out on their couch, wrapped in the jade green robe she knows full well is his favourite. He smiles at the sight of her painted toes, reaching down to drag his knuckle along the curve of her instep, his smile widening at the tiny shudder that goes through her.

"Your father was quite verbose on several subjects this evening, the least of being how much he loves your mother and the young prince and your good self."

She laughs as she curls her legs underneath her, giving him room to sit beside her. "Was that after one drink or two?"

"Just the one," he tells her, finding the smooth length of her calf with his palm as he eyes the bottle on the coffee table. "Although I suspect my tally is about to increase?"

The dimple at the corner of her lush mouth makes a charmingly fleeting appearance. "I bought you something." Reaching out, she turns the bottle around so he can see the label. "Voila!"

He stares.

His name is on a bottle of rum.

He picks up the bottle, scanning the label, feeling as though he's stepped through the bloody looking glass. "This isn't something you've created with your magic?" He looks up at her, knowing she wouldn't lie to him. "This is something that truly exists in this realm?"

She looks unashamedly pleased with herself. "Remember last month in the liquor store, when I told you that some legendary stories weren't based in reality?"

Perhaps he should scowl at the memory of that sodding prick Blackbeard having such an honour bestowed on his unworthy carcass, but he's too flummoxed by Emma's gift to pay it much heed. "Of course."

She shifts closer, her fingertips going to the bottle cap, twisting it off in one smooth movement. He can smell her perfume, warmed by her skin, and his heart does an odd little jig. "Well, sometimes the reality is actually _much_ better than the fairy tale story."

To his chagrin, he feels the tips of his ears growing warm at the tenderness in her voice, and does his best to summon a suitable quip. "You _did_ once mention something to me about perms and moustaches."

"Let's just say that you're a better deal all round and leave it at that." Her sultry smile is more than a match for the heat in her eyes as she liberates the bottle from his hand and pours a generous measure of rum into each glass. "The sales pitch said this stuff has a kick worthy of the mightiest swordsman."

He chuckles, admiring the long line of her neck and the way the silk rob clings to the curve of her breast. "Is that right?" He clinks his glass against hers, then liquid heat is warming his tongue and his throat, sliding down to his belly, burning smooth and fragrant. "Bloody hell," he sighs happily, half-expecting to see flames sparking from his tongue like dragon's breath. "That is _quite_ the concoction."

"And not a barnacle's butt in sight." Emma's cheeks are flushed, her eyes emerald bright as she curls into his side, her silken gown slipping off one shoulder just enough to heighten his suspicions that she's wearing nary a stitch beneath it. "They also said that no matter how you drank it, adventure lay ahead."

"Clever people, those advertising wordsmiths." He waits for her to have another sip, holding her gaze with his as he enjoys a second tipple himself, then closes the distance between them to take her mouth in a slow, deep kiss. She tastes of vanilla and spice, the burn of the rum searing his tongue. She laughs softly when he finally lifts his head, and he tastes the cinnamon on her breath.

"Well, Captain." She cradles her glass against her chest, offering him such a look of voluptuary challenge that he almost forgets how to breathe. " _Does_ adventure lie ahead?"

"Anything's possible, Swan." His blood humming with rum and want and _Emma_ , he slides his hand beneath the silk robe, trailing his fingertips up the length of her thigh. Making the very pleasant discovery that the robe is indeed the only thing she's wearing, he smiles. "What do you say we set sail and find out?"

Much later, he presses a kiss to her damp shoulder, smiling against her skin as she stretches languidly in his arms. "Thank you for the gift, darling."

"My pleasure." She draws his arm around her, turning her head and brushing her lips against his bicep. "Apparently, there's treasure in every bottle of that stuff," she murmurs sleepily as she nestles back against him. "Or maybe I imagined that bit."

He exhales, his breath stirring the fine golden hair clinging to his cheek. "A good pirate always recognises treasure when he sees it."

She threads her fingers through his, tugging his hand to rest between her breasts. "Are we still talking about the rum?"

Her voice is threaded through with weariness, but he hears her smile. "Go to sleep, Swan." Closing his own eyes, he pulls her closer, the heat of her seeping into his skin, warming him right down to his bones in a way that the finest rum could never achieve. "More adventures lay in wait for us tomorrow, no doubt."


End file.
